You Go To My Head
by BrittanyBatgirl
Summary: Tumblr prompt: What happens before Bucky gets put back into Cryostasis. NEW AND IMPROVED after extensive editing with help from my boyfriend.


Bucky sat on the floor, legs folded underneath him, in front of the window that made up the exterior facing wall. The setting sun lit the Wakandan skyline ablaze in brilliant shades of reds, yellows, and oranges, while casting long shadows across the room. It had been raining every day for the past month they had been there, so the sun was a much welcomed reprieve. He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there. Memories flooded his mind, making his head ache. The knock – off serum running through his veins was finally getting the chance to repair the damage done by repeated mind wipes. He squeezed his eyes shut against the dull throb. He wanted to remember. He needed to remember.

The cramped one room apartment, filled with mismatched furniture. Bright lights, his screaming echoed off tile walls. He can smell the fried bologna and boiled cabbage that they had for dinner practically every night. The stench of seared flesh and gun smoke surrounded him. The sound of Steve's ragged breathing, huddling for warmth during another harsh winter. The aged face of a man that twinges a small part of his now fried memory, ' _Barnes?'._ Stealing glances at Steve as he lounges on his bed in the sweltering summer heat. Tears stream down a woman's face as he strangles her.

It was like trying to swim upstream in a partially frozen river. Every now and then he finds a crack in the ice to push through, the frigid water pricking at his skin as it slowly freezes his blood. He struggles forward in short bursts. His heart pounds faster and faster, trying desperately to cut through the current. But he does it. He fights through it. Every inch of progress he makes, the water gets that little bit warmer.

The first crack came when a man who looked achingly familiar called him a name he hadn't heard in a very, very long time. _Bucky._

Months later, the same man, his mission, pleading with him. His metal arm raised to deliver the killing blow, frozen in place. _Cause I'm with ya 'til the end of the line._ The walls finally began to crumble.

He tried to force the tension out of his body. Remember to breath. In. Out. In. Out.

At least Bucky had a semblance of control of how he reacted when allowing the memories to wash over him. The nightmares, however, were another snarling beast entirely. A stained and cracked leather padded chair awaited for him. The sight of the restraints always made somewhere deep in his brain sick with panic. His body no longer knew that panic, simply moving toward the chair like a well oiled machine. The device clamped down around his skull. Violent convulsions torque his body as searing pain scorched across his skin, through his very bones. The sensation of a thousand needles slowly being pressed into every inch of him. The pain stops. He sits up, waiting. Then someone is speaking. No. Those words. Those _fucking_ words.

He always woke up shivering uncontrollably, teeth grinding, as his chest heaved through wracking sobs.

He had to do this. He had to protect everyone. He had to protect Steve.

There was a soft clicking noise of the door opening behind him.

"Oh. Hey, Buck." Steve was back. Judging from the scent of sweat, he was most likely working out. The smell made something deep in the pit of his stomach coil and squirm in familiar warmth.

"Your room has a better view."

"We're surrounded by a jungle. It's kind of the same view no matter which direction you look." Bucky just shrugged in response. There was small creaking sound as Steve settled on the edge of the bed. They sat in silence for a minute or two.

"T'Challa said his lab has everything set up." He knew Steve was frowning without having to look back. "I'm going under tomorrow." Another minute or two passed by.

"Whatever you think is best." His tone was flat, commanding. His Captain voice, Bucky once called it. Bucky braced his arm awkwardly push himself to a standing position.

"Well I wasn't asking the good Captain, I want to hear from Steve Rogers." He wished he could cross his arms. Steve's face stayed stoic for a moment before slowly melting into a frustrated frown. He worked his bottom jaw, as if grinding his teeth. Nostril's flared out just slightly as his breathing deepened. Bucky could almost hear Steve's brain filtering through all the things he wanted to say. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before any words finally came out rushing out.

"I do want you to do whatever you think is best. I want you to make your own decisions no matter what my opinion is." He paused, his jaw clenched, lips forming a thin line. "But it's like – it's like I'm watching you fall off the train again, and I can't decide if I should jump after you or not. Because I want to. Jump after you, I mean. Because I didn't last time, and it haunts me, Bucky. It fucking haunts me. What if I had jumped and gone after you? I probably could have survived, and we could have found our way out of there. Or maybe I would have gotten myself stuck in the same position as you. But I'll never know because I didn't try. And now I'm stuck in the same position. Should I jump after you or not?" He stops, slightly out of breath. His knuckles were white from gripping the bed sheets. "I can't run the risk of losing you again, Buck. Everyone else, from our life, is gone. All I got left is you." Steve's voice started getting hoarse. "Please don't leave me again."

Something clenched down on Bucky's heart. The same feeling he had watching Steve weep when his mother died. That sick feeling watching someone you care about – someone you love – hurt so deeply and you can't do anything to alleviate it. In fact, he was the direct cause of this. It made the weight on his chest seem that much heavier. He was at a loss, stuck between the proverbial rock and a hard place.

Bucky moved to crouch down in front of Steve. He could see the tears slowly leak from his eyes. His hands itched to grab a hold of one of Steve's, but settled for a comforting grip on his shoulder. He felt the slight pressure of Steve leaning into the touch.

"Stevie, I'm not going anywhere, y'hear me?" Bucky kept his voice low, but stern. His thumb was drawing small, slow circles along Steve's shoulder. "I'll be right here where you left me. Not dying in some frozen river. Not a clandestine HYDRA base. Right here. Safe and sound. Maybe not all warm and cozy, but safe and sound nonetheless." Bucky was pleased to see that managed to get a small smile out of Steve. "I need to do this. I need to make sure that whatever part of the Winter Soldier that's left can't be used again."

Bucky knew Steve was thinking the same what if's that ran through his head. What if they never found a way to remove the trigger? What if they did find a solution, but he didn't survive cryo? Selfish worries. Steve would tell him he deserved to be selfish, but Bucky knew he had to do this. He didn't have the right to be selfish. Not yet, at least.

Steve's shoulders heaved with a steadying deep breath, and he stood up from the bed. Bucky remained still, observing him as he walked to stand in front of the window. Steve scrubbed the wetness from his face angrily with his hands. The sun had long disappeared beyond the horizon, but even by the moonlight, Bucky could see the slightly darkened hue of the man's skin. He always loved seeing Steve blush. The brilliant red always started right below his cheekbone, slowly bleeding down his neck, and across his chest.

Bucky finally moved from his crouched position to turn and just look at Steve. He mapped out every inch of him. He loved Steve even before the serum. His pale skin made his lips appear all the more rosier, which were usually chapped from his constant anxious chewing. Straw yellow hair that remained lank and dull all through the winter, only to seemingly come back to life through the heat and sunshine of the summer months. Steve's body had been lanky, nothing but sharp jutting angles. It always reminded him of a newborn horse. Full of excitement and bravado, but no coordination to do anything with it. The serum was the cherry on top. Okay, maybe a whole bushel of cherries, if he was being honest. Steve's pale skin now a shade or so darker, reflecting the thrum of life that flowed through him. Jutting angles were now smooth formidable lines. Bucky thought he had a hard time restraining himself before, but he had yet to learn the true art of restraint until those few months after Steve's rescued him from the HYDRA base. Bucky always wanted to thank whoever gave Steve the opportunity to become who he was today, but sometimes he wished they could just back. Back to the way it was. Before the war. Life was simple. Life made sense. Bucky was still a good man.

As he stood gazing at Steve, a familiar ache of a long forgotten memory remerging prickled at his temples.

A much smaller Steve sat at a table before Bucky. It was their rickety kitchen table in their old apartment in Brooklyn. The sight of Steve in his familiar rumpled shirt, suspenders, and slacks made Bucky's heart ache. Dark circles sat under Steve's eyes, and he looked paler than usual. This was his first day he had enough strength to get out of bed after having pneumonia. Steve was looking down at an unopened envelope, his face etched with despair.

Bucky's heart sank. His draft notice. He could hear echoes of past conversations. Promises to try and not go without the other. But it seems the draft board had other ideas. The first of many choices taken away from Bucky. The beginning of the loss of his own free will. Some part of Bucky had wanted to do something that night. Tell Steve before it was too late. It would have been perfect. If Bucky had revealed himself, revealed his feelings for Steve, and things ended badly, then he had a convenient reason to not be around Steve for a while. He knew Steve didn't hate queers. There was surprising number of them throughout their own neighborhood, ones that only just kept hidden. And not once had he seen Steve show any animosity to them. In fact, Steve had always made a point to seem extra welcoming to them. But just because Steve Rogers seemed okay with it didn't mean the rest of the world around was, and Bucky would never drag Steve down into that rabbit hole with him. Steve deserved a normal life without fearing for his life or freedom. So Bucky said nothing more than what any good pal would say their best friend when leaving for war.

Then he was captured.

Pain. Unimaginable pain.

Suddenly Steve was there, that beautiful beaming face hovering over him. Except that face was attached to much more formidable and very large body. It was very disorienting to have to look _up_ at Steve. Bucky could have cried witnessing Steve fight off three guys at once as they made their escape. His Steve, his little Stevie, finally had the body to match his spirit.

Bucky should have said something. He was given another chance. But then they made it back to base camp, and he saw the way Peggy and Steve looked at each other. He left it alone and settled back into his good ole pal Bucky routine.

The last mission. The train.

Bucky is falling, screaming out for Steve.

And now here they were. Steve had saved him once again. Dare Bucky let this chance slide by him again? How many more times would fate favor him?

Bucky clenched his fist and straightened his spine in resolve.

Good men didn't think of themselves. Good men were unflappably selfless. Bucky Barnes may have been a good man once.

Steve was facing him now, eyes a little red around the edges still.

Bucky stepped towards him, steady and deliberate before he could hesitate. Steve's eyebrows twitched upwards, his mouth opening probably to ask what Bucky was doing. The words were smothered by Bucky crushing his lips against Steve's. A startled noise escaped Steve's throat. Bucky kept his lips against Steve's for a second or two more before attempting to pull away. He barely moved an inch away before Steve's hands were gripping either side of Bucky's head, pulling him back in place. Their lips moved together, each man fighting for dominance. Bucky flicked his tongue against Steve's bottom lip, the prodding answered by Steve's own tongue tracing along his teeth. Bucky let out an embarrassing whimper, as Steve pulled away slightly, leaning their foreheads together.

"What took you so long?" Steve's voice came out low and raspy. Bucky's knees almost gave out at the sound.

"Shut up, punk."

Grabbing Steve's hip, Bucky took the two steps towards the window and slammed him against it. He was surprised the glass didn't shatter, or at the very least crack. Their lips met again, yearning, fumbling. Bucky snaked his hand under the hem of Steve's shirt, digging his fingers into his side. Silently cursing his lack of a left arm, he broke contact just long enough to rip almost the entire front half of Steve's t-shirt off. He let out something that sounded pretty close to a growl, and yanked Bucky back toward him. He pressed himself against Steve, desperately wanting to be as close as he possibly could.

Bucky reached up threading his fingers through Steve's hair before gripping a handful. The feel and taste of Steve's lips were impossibly sweet, but the prospect of exploring Steve's skin was too tantalizing. Head bent down, he trailed quick and gentle nips across the delicate skin of Steve's neck, all the way down over the planes of his collar bone to the rise of his shoulder, and then back up again. This close up, Bucky could smell the thick aroma of sweat, and the underlying residue of an evergreen forest, which he guessed must have been Steve's soap.

"Fuckin' hell." Steve gritted out, letting his head fall back against the glass.

"Such a mouth on you, Rogers." Bucky breathed a chuckle causing goose bumps to spread across Steve's skin.

"You have no idea." Steve smirked, saucily. Bucky actually paused in his attentions and gaped at Steve.

Steve pushed forward against Bucky, moving towards the bed, removing the rest of each other's clothes along the way.

The two men explored every inch of each other with hands, lips, tongues and teeth, making up for all the lost years. Neither of them uttered a word, both simply wanting to revel in the sensations of each other.

They were sprawled out over the floor, having fallen off when at some point one side of the bed had collapsed. Steve lazily reached up to grab a pillow to place under his head, while Bucky used Steve's stomach as one.

"Well we may have to be in hiding, but at least it's not over this." Steve said, gesturing to the two of them. Bucky hummed in agreement, a lopsided grin playing across his features. Bucky lifted himself to shimmy up to nuzzle his face against Steve's neck.

"I love you, Stevie."

"Love you too, Buck."

They remained there curled around each other, both pretending that their world around them wasn't in chaos. They weren't two men out of time. Just Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, in their cramped apartment in Brooklyn.


End file.
